


Garden of Refuge

by Kylenne



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: Skyhold's garden was often a sanctuary for Khedira, a place to meditate and commune with Spirit in ways only a Rivaini seeress could. For Vivienne, it was the stage of yet another game.





	Garden of Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to faejilly for the prompt.

It was early as yet upon midsummer morning, and few were awake and about the halls and grounds of Skyhold. Khedira was one of them, however. As always, she took her meditations in the garden as the first steely light of dawn broke through the clouds, breathing in the thin, crisp mountain air and the scent of blossoming morning glory in a slow, tranquil rhythm, finding her center of calm, one with Spirit. And, as always, she was alone there this time of morning; it was a rule well known and unspoken throughout the order that the Seeress was not to be disturbed.

Suddenly, though, she was no longer alone, and Khedira sensed that second presence long before she saw it. Deep within a state of communion with Spirit, her senses were heightened, and she felt the warmth of a very familiar aura brush across them, a paradox of gentle strength raising goosebumps along her dark, bare arms. Khedira glanced up, and saw Vivienne sauntering past her rather lackadaisically, garbed in a fine silk brocade corset of brandy rose colored hue and light hose, and clutching a small tome in her hands.

Khedira’s eyes were hopelessly transfixed upon her every graceful movement. The sway of her hips was hypnotic as she sashayed across the garden, her long legs seeming to go on for a league, sheathed in towering boots of taupe suede that reached her upper thighs. Vivienne's strides were long and slow—deliberate, really—and at last she reached a padded bench beneath a covered trellis twined with roses, a few feet from where Khedira sat. Not once did she break her stride or meet Khedira’s eyes, not even when she sank down gracefully upon the bench, drawing one perilously long leg across the other, her posture relaxed as she leaned against the back of the bench. Vivienne was content to ignore her, it would seem, in favor of the book she opened. But Khedira knew better, after these long months, than to believe that Vivienne trekked clear across the fortress simply to read a book, at the one time and place she knew Khedira would be alone.

Such games, the Iron Lady loved to play.

Knowing this was a game made it no less simple to play, though. It was utterly impossible for Khedira to concentrate, to block out the world of the material and focus inward, with Vivienne’s magnetic presence in the periphery of her vision, calling to her like a beacon. Khedira tried to let the jumble of thoughts in her mind pass as normal, and tried to return to that sense of inner stillness, but it was futile. Her eyes kept drifting across the garden despite her best efforts, a hungry gaze following the elegant line of Vivienne’s neck, down the graceful curves of her body, lingering upon the pendant of aquamarine and pearl nested within her cleavage, rising and falling with each steady breath. The sun was well risen now, and its golden rays shone warm and soft upon the garden, casting laced shadows upon Vivienne’s rich mahogany skin through the trellis. Light and shadow danced along it, shimmering like heat in the warm summer breeze, and for what seemed like the thousandth time since they’d met, Khedira thought that Vivienne was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

And, for what seemed like the thousandth time since they’d met, Khedira’s blood grew warm, and she was forced to swallow hard against the sudden dryness in her mouth; her thoughts were far from still and serene, with her eyes locked upon Vivienne, and at last she admitted defeat. There was no shame in it. Khedira didn’t serve a goddess of serenity, after all.

When Khedira got up from her cushion, she remembered which goddess she _did_  serve, and it infused her steps with confidence as she swaggered over to Vivienne’s bench.

“Good morning, my lady,” Khedira said, standing before her.

“Good morning, love. I trust it finds you well?” Vivienne said, but didn’t look up from her book. Khedira glanced down at it; the leather binding was gilt, but its title was obscured by exceedingly delicate hands. A neatly manicured fingernail, trimmed unusually short, flipped one of the pages. Her dark eyes stayed fixed upon them.

“Even better now. I’ve never been so happy to have my meditations interrupted,” Khedira replied, with a sly smile.

“I had no idea the will of a Rivaini seeress was so easily subverted,” Vivienne said. Her long, slender fingers slid atop the pages, flicking to the next, and only then did she finally glance up at Khedira, her dark eyes luminous and smoldering. Khedira’s heart skipped a beat. “Perhaps you require the discipline of a Circle Mage,” she added.

Vivienne held Khedira’s gaze for only a moment, but it was enough to quicken Khedira's pulse, warmth turning to heat in her veins. It was enough to make her bold. She lifted her flowing skirt of gauzy black gossamer silk, and rested her bare foot upon the bench, close beside Vivienne. Her own long, toned leg parted the tall slit in the light fabric with ease, revealing rather casually a tightly muscled thigh inked with one of her infamous kraken's tentacles.

It _was_ bold, as opening gambits went. But Khedira was never one to back down from a challenge. 

For her part, Vivienne pursed her lips, and made a soft tsking noise, shaking her head. “Oh, Khedira. Do mind the cushions. Your feet are filthy.”

Khedira laughed, low and soft at her. “As you wish, beloved,” she replied, her eyes lowered in gently mocking contrition, and removed her foot from the cushion. Then, with a sudden, deft quickness, she grasped the back of the bench, and said foot was shortly replaced by her knee; she swung the other around to rest on Vivienne’s other side, straddling her crossed legs, and the skirt split between both tattooed thighs virtually up to the waist.

She hovered there, gazing down at Vivienne with all the Captain Blackfang smolder she could muster, her eyes half-lidded. “That better?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow.

“My, aren’t we feeling brazen this morning?” Vivienne remarked with lofty sense of detachment, still reading her book—and now that Khedira was hovering over her, she could make out the text on the pages, upside down and Orlesian though it was. Khedira still wasn’t fluent, but she didn’t need to be. A scoundrel such as the one she once was would know those words in most every tongue in Thedas; she’d heard them breathed against her skin, by many of them.

Khedira grinned affectionately down at her. “Forgive me, madame. After all, I am a heathen apostate with no sense of propriety, aren’t I?” She gave a slow and deliberate shrug of her shoulders, in seeming self-deprecation, but it heaved leather clad cleavage closer to Vivienne’s face. Hardly subtle by the unspoken rules of these games of seduction Vivienne so adored, but when it came to them, and to Vivienne at all, Khedira was still at heart that brassy raider youth from Llomerryn—far from Val Royeaux—who thought “subtle” was frankly overrated, and believed “rules” were more like guidelines.

Even so, for all Khedira’s lack of Orlesian sophistication, her audacious display caused hairline fractures to seep into Vivienne's tightly affixed mask nonetheless, the one unseen but ever present: a faint parting of full and sensuous lips, a surreptitious, darting glance upward that lingered a bit overlong, the slight tremor of her slender fingers upon the pages. Anyone else may have missed them, but Khedira knew her too well by half now.

“And a licentious pagan ruled by her unnatural urges,” Vivienne said, her rouged lips curving into a faint smile as she did. “Don’t leave that part out, darling.”

Khedira gripped the back of the bench tighter, and leaned down, her pouting, scarred lips hovering dangerously close to Vivienne’s ear. “Never. It’s your favorite part, isn’t it?” she breathed into it, before planting her lips behind Vivienne’s earlobe, and giving it a gentle tug with her teeth.

“Have a care, Seeress,” Vivienne said, reaching up with a hand to stroke the back of Khedira’s braided hair. And Khedira felt Vivienne’s legs shift, uncrossing beneath her own. “One might find cause to question your intent, here.”

Khedira sank down lower, onto Vivienne’s lap, still straddling her, and smiled. “What of yours, madame?” 

Vivienne’s laughter rang like peals of golden bells in Khedira’s pointed ears, while the hand that was petting her braids a moment prior removed itself, and returned to the book. “Mine? Oh, don’t be daft, love. I simply thought to take advantage of an unseasonably warm summer morning, and take in a light spot of reading,” she said.

Khedira tilted her head in curiosity, and lowered one of her hands from the bench, drawing a single finger down the leather spine of the volume, swirling it about the embossed lettering, suddenly recognizing it. “A book of vice the Chantry _and_ Emperor Florian banned for obscenity?”

“You’re familiar with the Marquise de Shahrizai?” Vivienne asked in wry amusement.

“I’m familiar with the queen’s ransom her works fetched in the black markets of Estwatch,” Khedira said, smirking. She lifted her finger around the top of the book, and slid it hard and firm down the cleft between its pages; Vivienne’s eyes followed the movement intently. “And familiar enough with their contents to think one might find cause to question _your_  intent, here. It’s a strange choice, for light reading.”

“‘Strange’ is a highly subjective and relative concept, my dear,” Vivienne replied, pursing her lips. “Of a surety, one might find it passing strange that my mere presence in your garden was all it took to break your focus.”

Khedira reached up to lightly stroke Vivienne’s cheek with the back of her hand, trailing a finger along her sharp cheekbone, and down her jawline, with a feather-light touch. “No one who knows you would ever find that strange, love,” Khedira said.

What was victory, in such a game? Was it the hitch of Vivienne’s breath, caught in her throat when Khedira’s lips pressed down against her cheek, and tongue echoed the movements of her finger, down Vivienne's jawline, mouth sucking gently at the hollow of her throat? And who could claim victory? Khedira no longer cared. Neither did Vivienne, it would seem; she let the book slip from her grasp, and it fell upon the dew stained grass. Vivienne’s hands were hot and soft against Khedira’s bare back, teasing at the edge of her vest, then drifting around to caress the rippled muscles of her tattooed abdomen, down her sides, before resting upon her waist.

“Indeed they wouldn't,” Vivienne whispered, her fingers gently kneading Khedira's hips. She flashed a dazzling smile up at Khedira, and her eyes gleamed with unabashed desire; the unseen mask was fallen then, as surely as her book. “But one must remind a lover of that, from time to time. I would have you know these things, lovely Khedira, and remember the power I possess.”

It was more than that, of course. Again, Khedira knew Vivienne too well by now, and knew there were a thousand layers to every word that passed her generous and artfully rouged lips. Vivienne would not compete with the Dark Lady, Osana; surely, some small part of her Circle-trained intellect still feared the Rivaini spirit the Chantry called a Desire Demon, despite the respect with which she treated Khedira's calling. But she needed the reminder, as much as Khedira, that she could coax desire from Osana’s chosen as surely as the goddess herself could. That it was not merely the spirit Khedira drew inside her, hungering for the pleasures of the flesh, that drew her to Vivienne. It was an unspoken fear, of course, as all Vivienne’s fears were. She dared not give voice to them, not the Iron Lady, who projected strength always, never abiding weakness in herself, lest her enemies seize upon it. And she would utterly deny it if asked. But Khedira knew it to be true. Nothing that lurked in the shadows of one’s soul could remain hidden to one chosen by Osana. Not for very long, at any rate. 

Khedira leaned down and parted Vivienne's guileful mouth with her tongue, plunging hard and deep, near to the back of her throat. And as she kissed her, with such fierce tenderness, she felt Vivienne’s hands tighten their grip on her waist, sliding down the back of her silk skirts to squeeze her ass firmly, smooth fabric bunching in delicate hands. Khedira moaned into Vivienne’s mouth, tilting her head, allowing Vivienne’s tongue to mimic the movements of her own, taking her in, savoring the taste of earthy tea upon her lips. They pulled away from one another, each taking hard, gasping breaths; Vivienne’s was hot against Khedira’s cheek, and Khedira sat back on her haunches, spreading her thighs across Vivienne’s lap, basking in her beauty. She was always beautiful to Khedira—always—but never as much as when she permitted those simmering passions that churned beneath her cool exterior to show. Vivienne’s kohl-rimmed eyelids were heavy, and her dark skin was flushed; though her hands were firm and controlled, tracing the tattoos inked into Khedira’s scarred midriff, there was a slight tremble in them.  

There was never any doubt, not to Khedira, of the effect Vivienne had on her. That Vivienne kindled burning desire in her like few others ever had was never in question. From the moment Khedira saw Vivienne descend the grand stair in her posh estate, and Khedira met dark and shrouded eyes with her own, she knew that she wanted Vivienne. And it had been that way ever since, only magnified by the deep and most unlikely affection that blossomed between them despite their disparate backgrounds, fighting alongside one another, spending quiet moments in counsel. Even their debates on esoterica, maddening though they could be at times, fed Khedira's admiration for Vivienne; such was her profound intellect and passion for the arcane. And Khedira was always searching for her in a room full of people, finding that darkly beautiful and enigmatic gaze, basking in the heat that sparked between them with a simple touch, or a sly smile. She felt a giddy manner of foolish pride in earning her trust, when so few did. In the main, Khedira craved her presence like water or air, and drowning in it all the same.

But if Vivienne needed reminding, Khedira would be happy to oblige.

“I could never forget the power you have over me, beloved,” Khedira said, her voice low and bereft of its casual teasing. She kneaded Vivienne's bare shoulders, smoothing her palms across her décolletage, caressing the soft curve of her bosom, exposed at the top of the corset. Khedira’s hands were far softer than they once were, thanks to Vivienne’s myriad of fragrant creams and salves, and they took their time, stroking her flawless mahogany skin with tender affection. But before she could unhook the restrictive garment, Vivienne’s hands slid up Khedira's sides. Teasing the bottom edge of her leather vest, her palms glided upwards to grasp Khedira’s own breasts hard, despite the thick barrier in the way. Khedira bit her lip against the moan that rose up from her throat at it, and at the teasing sensation of Vivienne’s soft fingertips ghosting caresses across her cleavage, toying with the cleft, and the laces that restrained it.

“Weren’t you removing my corset? Such a dreadful lack of discipline,” Vivienne said, with a wicked little laugh. 

Before Khedira could answer, Vivienne pulled her down, a curtain of black braids falling about them both, and caught the knot of Khedira’s leather vest in her bright teeth, tugging at the laces to unravel them with all the deftness of a rogue. A languid sigh of pleasure escaped Khedira’s lips, as Vivienne’s found her pierced nipples by turns, suckling them firmly.

“Gods,” Khedira gasped, a lightning jolt of desire shooting down her spine, heat building and throbbing between her thighs as Vivienne’s teeth tugged at the little hoops, tongue’s tip darting between gold and sensitive black flesh.

Vivienne pulled away, a feline smile etched across her lips. “Something the matter, dear?” she asked playfully. Her sculpted eyebrows quirked, head tilted, as her hands tightened around Khedira’s breasts, squeezing and fondling them almost casually, her onyx eyes gleaming bright with lust.  

“You make it hard to focus, beloved,” Khedira panted.

“Am I to apologize for it?”  Vivienne asked, tugging the golden hoops with a gentle firmness that sent fresh waves of need washing over Khedira.

Khedira’s choked reply was caught in her throat, as Vivienne kissed it hard, sucking it, sliding her tongue up her neck to a pointed ear. “I suppose I shall have to undress myself, then. I’m terribly disappointed in you,” Vivienne breathed into it, before kissing her way up and down the point, nibbling it, and the sensation sent Khedira’s eyes rolling back into her head. Her body was throbbing, and by then she was outright squirming on Vivienne’s lap; it seemingly moved of its own volition, enflamed by every caress of Vivienne’s tongue, every kiss, every illicit touch.

And though everything in her yearned to straddle Vivienne’s thigh and ride it, desperate for friction, Khedira did possess some small measure of discipline. She pulled back onto her knees, and deftly unhooked the corset, revealing no fine undergarments but Vivienne’s full and exquisite breasts in all their glory. Like unto soft, heavy teardrops they were, and like every other inch of her, were perfect, and Khedira paid tribute with hands trembling with desire. 

“What was that about intent, madame?” Khedira asked, as she ran her hands along their supple curves, squeezing their tender flesh, ghosting little circles along Vivienne’s large, dark nipples with her thumbs. “You came to my garden with a book of scandalous sex poetry, and without any smallclothes, but _my_ intentions should be questioned?”

Vivienne’s reply came as a mere whimper, when Khedira caught her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, pinching them lightly. It didn’t matter how many times they’d done this before; every time Vivienne crumbled beneath Khedira’s touch, she felt unbearably smug. It meant everything to coax out the passion Vivienne buried and only shared with a precious, chosen few, and it was a goad to Khedira's own.

Perhaps Khedira needed a reminder herself, of the power she had over the Iron Lady, who was in truth softer and more yielding than any she’d ever known. “Something the matter, my dear?” she asked teasingly, throwing Vivienne’s words back in her face, as she fondled her.

Vivienne's laughter was sultry and affectionate then, and filled with desire. “You know very well what I’m about, my darling seeress,” she purred, echoing Khedira’s movements, her fingers toying with the golden nipple rings again, in just the way that drove Khedira mad.

“Maybe I need to hear it,” Khedira said, and chewed her bottom lip, squirming.

All traces of Vivienne's casual teasing and banter were gone in an instant, and she wrapped her arms around Khedira, resting her cheek against her racing heart. “I wish to pass this morning here with you, my love,” Vivienne said. “Knowing naught but pleasure, and returning it a thousandfold.” 

For all the heady passion Vivienne roused in her, it was this declaration that warmed Khedira more than anything else. That this remarkable woman in all her glory, beauty, and power, would not only choose her—a broken woman bearing even more scars upon her soul than her skin, who was anathema by every measure of law and doctrine in _basrani_  lands—but choose her again, and again?

That was the truest meaning of pleasure to Khedira, and she was uncertain Vivienne would ever understand just how much it meant to her.

“Then I’m yours, madame,” Khedira breathed, and pulled back from her embrace to press a tender kiss upon her lips, determined to try and show her. She kissed and licked her way down Vivienne’s throat again, planting gentle love bites along the graceful line of her neck. And as she did, Khedira’s hand slowly drifted down between their warm bodies, down Vivienne’s belly, smooth and lean, until her fingertips reached the edge of Vivienne’s thin hose, idly teasing the waistband.

Vivienne wore nothing beneath them, it seemed. And when Khedira slipped her hand inside, stroking soft, neatly trimmed curls, she grazed teasing strokes across nether lips slick with need, parting the folds to rub the sensitive inner layers. Gods, she was wet as the sea, soaking Khedira’s fingers to the bone.

“Maker’s breath,” Vivienne purred, her own breath ragged, hitching in her throat, when Khedira slid a finger across her clit, rubbing it slowly.

This is what Khedira lived for, watching that telltale rush of crimson spread across Vivienne’s dark cheeks, her long lashes fluttering involuntarily, pulse quickening so hard she could see it rippling beneath her skin. Their eyes were locked upon one other in a shared gaze of endless dark and fiery heat, and as Khedira’s fingers teased her folds, Vivienne’s tongue licked the smeared remnants of rouge from her lips.

Khedira slipped her longest finger inside Vivienne; she was hot as a boiling cauldron, wetter than anything, and she squeezed her thighs around Khedira’s hand, hips rocking up to meet the rhythm of Khedira’s strokes. A second finger followed, and Khedira settled her thumb along the slick pearl, rubbing deft circles on it as she worked Vivienne inside with her fingers. At that, Vivienne was overcome, no longer able to meet Khedira’s lust-filled gaze, and leaned her head back with her eyes shut, overcome as her whole world became little more than Khedira’s fingers pumping inside her. But Khedira’s eyes remained locked upon her, unable to tear themselves from her flushed and exquisite face, watching the famously composed Iron Lady melt beneath her touch, sighing and gasping with unalloyed pleasure. Khedira's own body was desperate for friction, rising up and down involuntarily with those movements, as wet, slick, and hot as her lover. 

She couldn’t help herself; she pulled her fingers away from Vivienne, and slipped them into her mouth, desperate for a taste of her pleasure. It was more intoxicating than any fine wine, sweeter than honey, salty and rich. And it was far from enough, that brief taste. It was never enough.

Vivienne opened her eyes, staring at Khedira as she savored it. “Have more, if you so desire,” she whispered, flicking her tongue suggestively at Khedira.

That was an invitation Khedira would never turn down.

With renewed vigor, she rose from the bench and kissed her way down Vivienne’s body, suckling her breasts by turns before continuing ever downward, sinking to her knees upon the dew-stained grass. But when Vivienne reached down to unbuckle her tall boots, Khedira quickly snatched her wrist.

“No. I want them on,” Khedira said firmly, the dark edge of command creeping into her voice unbidden. And she felt Vivienne’s pulse leap in her grip at it. She added, with a wicked little chuckle, “I hope you’re not especially fond of this hose, love.”

Vivienne’s laugh was low and sensuous. “I’ve half a dozen more pairs,” she drawled.

“Good.”

Khedira didn’t require a spirit to lend her strength, either. Not in this. She released Vivienne’s wrist from her grasp, and coaxed her down the cushioned bench. With a sharp, hard tug, she ripped apart the seam, leaving a large, jagged hole in the thin fabric that revealed flushed mahogany skin crowned by a neatly trimmed carpet of black curls, damp and glistening. Khedira raked her fingers across it a moment; no matter how many humans she’d had sex with, it never got old to her. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of it, given the hairlessness of her own elven body. And Vivienne’s was softer than most, damp with her yearning.

Then, Khedira buried her face between Vivienne’s thighs, hungry for the sweetness of her sex. She licked hard and slow, up and down, drinking deeply, parting the sensitive inner folds with her tongue to find Vivienne’s swollen clit. Khedira licked and suckled it, swirling her tongue, rolling like waves against it with firm pressure. A languid moan escaped Vivienne’s throat at it, and then her body shifted on the bench. Sliding down further, she rested her long, boot-clad legs upon Khedira’s shoulders, wrapping them around her head; she twirled a hand in Khedira’s hair, coiling braids about it, and clung to them tightly as she rode her tongue, grinding her hips. It only goaded Khedira on, fanning the flames of her own lust, and she squeezed her own thighs together, throbbing with need. Her hand trembled, desperate to touch herself, to grant herself some measure of release.

But she would show this proud Circle Mage the true discipline of a seeress. Khedira parted Vivienne’s inner folds a bit wider, and sucked hard on her clit, before her fingers picked up right where they left off, penetrating her deep beyond the knuckles again and again, finding a brisk rhythm. There was no sense of time, or even the sunlight that shone down upon them; not even need for air, not for this Rivaini priestess who’d dived for a myriad of pearls in her life, but none so beautiful or precious as this one. There was only the heady scent of Vivienne’s sex filling Khedira’s senses, more alluring than any of the flowers surrounding them. Only Vivienne’s pleasure on her lips, sweet as ambrosia and smearing her chin. Only Vivienne writhing beneath Khedira’s tongue, moaning softly with increasingly ragged breaths as her hips rolled of their own volition, her body aflame with desire.

Khedira savored it all.

At last, Khedira felt Vivienne’s thighs tense up, knees buckling around her head with a cry of ecstasy, her fingers seizing Khedira’s braids in a vice grip as she came hard against her mouth. But Khedira didn’t stop at the first release, only intensifying the strokes of her tongue, curling her fingers inside her, carrying Vivienne through the aftershocks and over the edge again and again, wringing her limp and licking her clean. She finally pulled away when she felt Vivienne’s hand slack in her hair, and gazed up at her.

Khedira smiled, panting a bit for air, and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

“Come here, love,” Vivienne said softly.

“Of course.” Khedira gently extricated herself from Vivienne’s legs, and obeyed, rising up from her knees to stand over her, gazing down upon her with fondness and no small amount of awe.

For Vivienne’s dark eyes were twinkling bright as a night sky full of stars, and her damp skin gleamed in the sunlight, radiant and serene. She wore the aftermath of pleasure as elegantly as she did all her finery, but Khedira found her more beautiful now than she ever did in them, disheveled and spent. Content and at peace, and radiating the purest kind of joy and affection…these were finer than any of her myriad gowns and jewels, Khedira was certain.

“You’re swooning again,” Vivienne said a bit amusedly.

“Can you blame me?” Khedira retorted, with a light giggle. 

“No, I suppose not. And I must admit, it is rather endearing. But I require a bit of assistance,” Vivienne said. She quirked her eyebrows with a little smirk on her face. “And I believe you require much more.”

Khedira felt her cheeks grow warm, and Vivienne laughed softly, that delightfully scandalous laugh that warmed Khedira’s heart as much as her face. And when Vivienne lifted up her hands, Khedira grasped them tightly, helping her to her feet, and into a tight embrace, Khedira’s hungry lips finding Vivienne’s for a deep kiss. She pulled away only to draw Vivienne toward her small apartment nearby, overlooking this part of the garden, her sanctuary among blossoms of jasmine. But Vivienne’s mouth sought hers out again, and again, as they walked. One kiss led to another, and yet another, and Khedira was only tangentially aware of opening the door behind her; she left a trail of discarded vest and skirt on the finely woven silk Nevarran carpets, between kisses, until at last Vivienne slammed the door behind her and slid the bolt into place. 

Vivienne leaned with her back against it, raising up a single tall boot for Khedira to unbuckle, and she did so by turns, one after the other, pulling them off with the torn hose soon to follow. Fully disrobed, they kissed once more with wandering hands, Vivienne’s sliding down the small of Khedira’s back to grip her by the ass, squeezing it tightly.

“I need you,” Khedira whimpered, riding her hips up to rub her sex against Vivienne’s thigh, desperate for sweet friction, slick against her skin. 

“Do you?” Vivienne teased Khedira, and her hands clenched tighter on Khedira’s ass, before giving it a stinging swat; Khedira nearly melted on the spot, her breath hitching, but she willed herself still all the same. “Is that how we make our requests now? This is Orlais, my dear. Do have some decorum,” Vivienne purred.

“ _S’il vous plaît, madame_ ,” Khedira moaned against Vivienne’s neck. 

"Ah. That's better," Vivienne said. "Now, what is it you want?"

A thousand images flooded Khedira's fevered mind, of silk cords and leather straps and spiraling glass rods and a myriad other exotic pleasures they'd shared, but although they set her blood to beating in her ears, all that mattered to her were those deep and luminous eyes gazing upon her in utter adoration, belying the playful tone with which Vivienne spoke. Vivienne's thigh locked between hers. Vivienne's finger sliding down behind her, teasing her cleft.

"You," Khedira whispered. "Only you."

Vivienne's answering smile was radiant and enticing.

Sunlight streamed through the colored glass of Khedira’s window, leaving a mosaic upon her bed, and she pulled Vivienne towards it, delighting as always in the way the lights danced against the lush darkness of their skin. They lay down together, Khedira sprawling on her back, Vivienne slithering atop her. It didn't matter that they had done this countless times; each time was as achingly tender as the first, the way they touched one another. Vivienne's mouth was so soft, her breath hot against Khedira's skin as she planted a myriad of kisses across it. For all the games she loved to play, there was nothing insincere about Vivienne's passion, or the affection she poured out upon Khedira's body with eager hands and lips. They lingered for a blissful eternity upon Khedira's breasts alone, pinching and sucking her nipples hard, toying with the rings, catching them with her teeth, and it sent a fresh wave of throbbing between Khedira's thighs.

Vivienne worked her way down Khedira's body, caressing scars and tattoos alike, most especially the one she'd once called grotesque in a pique of amusement; her tongue traced each spiraling tentacle, kissing down to the kraken's head inked into Khedira's mound, ghosting feather light touches on the sensitive skin with her fingertips to drive Khedira writhing. In truth, Vivienne found it as darkly alluring as Khedira's other lovers, and it was a truth made clear every time they made love, the way she paid it homage with her tongue.

Khedira gasped a little, when Vivienne's finger slid down to part her slickened folds, and rounded over the upper reaches, the hood pierced through by a thin gold ring. Vivienne found the golden bead upon it, and flicked it with the tip of her tongue at just the right angle to press it against Khedira's clit.

The friction it made was glorious; that was one impulsive decision from Khedira's raucously misspent youth she never had cause to regret, no matter the pain of it at the time. Vivienne gave her particular cause to be thankful for it. She settled between Khedira's thighs, gently spreading them wide across the sheets, and brushed Khedira's nether lips in an agonizingly slow stroke of her hand, spreading them open to catch the swollen pearl between her fingers, rubbing its sides slow and firm, before lowering her mouth upon it.

Khedira moaned as she rolled her hips, rocking against Vivienne's tongue, meeting her hard, languid strokes. And when Vivienne suckled her clit hard, Khedira cried out, shuddering into Vivienne's mouth as a wave of pleasure washed over her, blossoming into her spine. 

It was little more than the opening of floodgates, in truth. Khedira was insatiable in her appetites, and Vivienne saw it as a challenge, always, to ring every ounce of pleasure from her, and reveled in playing her body as exquisitely as a taut lyre. Plucking the strings with lips and tongue, Vivienne coaxed Khedira's body to sing for her again and again.

Khedira's breath came in ragged gasps, and her sensitive inner flesh quivered at the sensation of Vivienne's tongue plunging inside it. A pair of skilled fingers were soon to follow, stroking her hard and deep. A third slipped beneath Khedira, lightly fingering the puckered entrance behind, tracing her familiar incantation, and with a quiet rush of energy, Khedira's skin grew slick there as well.

A low moan escaped Khedira's throat, and her hands clenched the sheets hard as she felt Vivienne's thumb slip inside her, and she clamped her eyes shut against the competing sensations of warm, hot tongue swirling firm, quick circles against her clit, and fingers piercing her in a pinching grip at both ends. She lost herself to the delicious tension building to a fever pitch, riding Vivienne's hand for all she was worth.

Then Vivienne crooked her fingers inside Khedira just so, and a world of stars dazzled before Khedira’s eyelids, blinding in radiance; she cried out some incoherent oath in her mother tongue, pleasure consuming her whole, and fair soaked the fine linens of her bed. For a long while, Khedira lay there, sunk deep into the pillows, savoring the limpness of her tired limbs, the coolness spreading in her tight shoulders as it drove the tension out of them, and all her muscles. After so many days spent on the road, in hostile territory no less, it was well savored, this relaxation that pleasure set deep into her. 

She felt a shifting of weight upon the bed, and when she opened her eyes at last, Vivienne had climbed up to lay beside her. She wondered, then, as Vivienne's exquisite eyes, so achingly soft, locked upon her own. Perhaps there were reasons for this beside a simple assertion of dominance, staking her claim once more upon Khedira. Nothing was ever that simple with Vivienne.

Khedira drew her into a warm embrace, lanky limbs entwined and tangled in the sheets. She leaned back against the pillow, when Khedira parted her lips for a deep kiss tinged with the salty sweetness of their mingled pleasure. Were they both not utterly spent, it would have driven Khedira mad again.

"Thank you, Vivienne. For everything," she said softly.

"It's been a trying time, hasn't it?" Vivienne said. "The stakes grow ever higher for us all. But I am here for you, my love. Always. Never doubt that."

"I know. I feel the same way about you. It means a great deal to me," Khedira said, fondly caressing her cheek before adding with an impish smirk, "even when it gets a bit messy."

“A libation for your goddess,” Vivienne said, licking her lips, and delicately wiping her chin. “I do hope she finds it as pleasing as I.”

Khedira laughed a little in return, with the most utterly wonderful sort of exhaustion. “You seem awfully fond of her, for a loyal daughter of the Chantry,” she said, with a wry grin.

Vivienne smiled softly, and kissed her tenderly. “I’m fond of _you_ , Khedira. And if she brought you here, as you claim, I would be remiss if I did not show my gratitude." 

More laughter followed, soft and sensual, interspersed by kisses.

"I love you, Vivienne," Khedira sighed contentedly, smiling into her shoulder when they embraced tightly once more. 

"And I you, Khedira," Vivienne whispered into her ear.

Warmth spread through Khedira's chest every time Vivienne said it; no longer tinged with the sense of self-deprecating disbelief, but with pride. She held onto that feeling, as surely as she did to the woman who inspired it, and prayed that she could return it. There was work to be done, though, and Khedira had tarried enough. Truth be told, there was always so much to be done there, even with the burden shared between her sister Inquisitors. The anchor was hers alone, though, and were her role were simply a matter of sealing those accursed rifts, Khedira would have been content. She’d not be forced to leave the arms of her lovers so often, if that were the case.

"We should probably get up, though. The sun grows higher, and I've rounds to make about the fortress," Khedira said.

Vivienne pursed her lips into a slight frown. "True. I'm awash in correspondence to respond to, and matters of import to discuss with Josephine," she said.

"Oh?"

"Nothing to trouble you with, my dear. A petty dispute between a pair of minor Houses hardly requires the Seeress of Rivain's attention. Though, given the volatility of Celene's court at present, I would rather see it dealt with before it festers and grows into something more, which is why I seek to intervene. The wastrels in question may be of little note, but their patrons may not be," Vivienne explained. "It can wait, though."

"But--"

Khedira's protest was silenced mid sentence, by Vivienne's finger upon her lips.

“It was a long journey back from the Emprise, and a day of respite will do us both some good, love. I insist," Vivienne said firmly. She rose from the bed, planting a kiss upon Khedira's brow before sauntering to the large armoire in the corner of the room.

Khedira rolled over onto her side, and propped herself upright, leaning on her elbow. She tried not to laugh, watching Vivienne riffle through her wardrobe, stroking the fine robes of Rivaini silk with careful consideration, before settling on one of deep, jewel toned emerald. 

"May I?" Vivienne asked softly, her brow raised.

"Of course," Khedira said.

It was more a formality than a question really, as Khedira would never deny her anything so trivial. The warm, golden undertones of her deep brown skin brought out the subtle specks in the print in a stunning fashion, true, but it was the sight of Vivienne's statuesque form adorned in the selfsame garb Khedira wore countless times that warmed her more than the specific aesthetic qualities of the garment. There was a kind of blissful domesticity to it, as if they were merely young lovers delighting in simple pleasures such as these, without a care for ancient malevolent creatures and intrigue. Khedira knew from bitter experience to treasure such moments; they were fleeting.

“It suits you,” she said, smiling.

"I know. But it's so good of you to say it," Vivienne said with a light chuckle. "Now, shall I have the kitchens send up some breakfast? A pot of Seheronese chai, perhaps some brioche, to remind us that we're civilized women of quality and not vagabonds shooting for the pot in the field?"

Khedira doubled over in laughter, and with great affection. She stretched her loosened limbs like a lazy cat, sprawling back out upon the bed. Respite sounded wonderful—most especially, when spent with Vivienne. 

”As you wish, madame.”


End file.
